The Riddle
by queenfire
Summary: Someone is killing and leaving riddles. A mysterious figure wants something and Sherlock needs to know what is it. With action, intrigue and riddles, this is a fic of mystery. And a fic of friendship. The investigations turns into something very danger and could Sherlock save John? Please, review and fave! ) Hope you like it!
1. Love Hurts

**Chapter 1**

Sherlock was investigating a case of murder. Lestrade had called him to help them solving the case because it was a strange one. Apparently, a woman killed her boyfriend in a jealous act. The police found the man's body flat on the floor, with a knife on his heart. They found a note near the body with some words:

_You were my only love, my life_

_Look what have you done, my heart_

_Now I shall leave this place and reach my own_

_For all I've done is now complete_

_Love, oh my love, you've hurt me…_

The words seemed to have been written by a woman, his girlfriend, maybe. The police didn't have any clues, so Lestrade called Sherlock and John.

When they get to the crime scene, Lestrade shown every detail and explained everything.

Sherlock approached the body and started investigating. John went outside, to look at the room.

Lestrade gave him the paper.

"She wrote this."

"Why "she""? Sherlock asked while he was inspecting the wound.

"Because it's kind of a poem…she let it here after the murder and left. We need to find her."

"Yes, someone killed this guy, wrote that note and left the flat. Who knows if that person's a woman? Or even his girlfriend?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Come on Sherlock…stop being so confusing!"

"I'm not confusing; you are the one that is being confused with my point of view." He pened one of the man's eyes. "Probably, his girlfriend killed him because she caught him with another. Then she wrote the note, trying to give someone a clue, but, Lestrade!, this is too obvious. I don't believe it."

Lestrade sighed.

John said:

"And if she is desperate?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous John!" Sherlock was almost laughing.

"In the note, she says _Now I shall leave this place and reach my own/_

_For all I've done is now complete. _Sherlock, it sounds like she wanted to leave this place."

"No John. This is a hard case. I can feel it… it's not so simple. It's not a case of seeking the killer. No… the killer is not soo obvious as it seems… this "woman", let's calling him "woman", killed this man not only in an anger act, moved by jealous. She let us a note. John, Lestrade: this note was for us."

His mind was traveling hard… clues, names, numbers, details… everything was passing through his eyes and brain. He left the body and searched for something in the room. He left that room and went to another. He ran the entire house.

John followed him, with Lestrade. When they reached the initial room, Sherlock spoke.

"I have what I need for now. I have his address and phone notebook. I have ideas on my mind. The scene… the blood, the knife. Yes, the knife is missing. Why? Because it's the murder weapon…fingerprints, clues, names, the killer. Lestrade, fingerprints?"

"No, none." Lestrade answered.

"Come John. Let's go."

"But…" Lestrade started.

"I call you later." Sherlock answered. John followed him.

When they arrived to the street, they waited for a cab.

"What do you think?" John asked.

"That man was bait. That note, the missing knife… John, do you remember the bombs?"

"Of course, I had one on my chest, do you remember?"

"Yes, of course yes. John, this is the same type. I tell you everything later."

The cab came and they entered, asking to go to 221 Baker Street.


	2. Second victim

**Chapter II**

They got home and Sherlock threw his coat to the bed, then fell on the sofa. John sat down too, waiting for the explanation.

Sherlock looked at the window and said:

"John, its Moriarty."

John sighed.

"Again? What does he want now?"

"He wants to test me. He is not very imaginative… nor creative. He wants to make me go after him. He gives clues to make me follow him, so in the end, he will appear, like the other time."

"The other time I almost got killed. I was the bait…"

"Maybe, but now we are prepared."

John was not so convinced.

"But why was that man dead?" he asked.

"Maybe he was really cheating his girlfriend and Moriarty knew. So he used that to kill him, building a plot. With that plot, that note, he knew Lestrade and the police would call us…"

"I see… it's kinda hard to believe, Sherlock. Maybe you couldn't prove it to Lestrade."

Sherlock rose from the sofa.

"Let him play, let him give us clues. Now we know what he wants and who is behind the crime. Prepare for another one." And he went to the bathroom.

John was alone, so he took his coat and went to the kitchen to make some food. Minutes later, they were eating a large dish of pasta with tomato John made.

"Let's wait for a new phone call. The first clue is done, so today or tomorrow another one will appear."

Sherlock passed the day searching on his laptop computer, while John was blogging. It was a way to make Moriarty know that they were on his track.

In the end of the day, the phone rang. It was Lestrade.

"John, there is another clue. Come on."

They left the apartment and called a cab. Sometime later they were in the in the crime scene: another house.

"Sherlock, John" Lestrade greeted "There has been another situation. This time it's a woman. She is not dead, but she is injured and in shock."

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked.

"She's in her room, come. She has been wounded in her chest, like the attacker wanted to stab her in the heart, as the other man. Maybe it was the woman. We can't make her talk…" Lestrade was a little upset with that point.

When they reached the room, they found her. A red hair'd woman, with more or less 25 years was lying on the bed, dress with a green skirt. She had no blouse, only the red bra. A bandage was upon her chest. She was crying.

Sherlock approached. John glanced at her, and said, approaching:

"Miss, can I help you? Please, no one will hurt you now. Tell me, what are you feeling?"

The woman opened her blue eyes and looked at John, with fear.

"Trust me, I'm a doctor."

She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but the tears were hamper that act. John was patient, so he encouraged her with his kind green eyes.

"Miss…"

"…Bluer, my name…is Anny Bluer…"

"Miss Bluer, what did she done to you?" John asked.

"She? Who…who…is she?"

"The woman who attacked you."

She denied.

"No woman…no… it was a… a… man…"

"A man?" John asked.

Sherlock smiled.

"Yes…yes…he came here… he talked to me… he…he… stabbed me…"

"You knew him?"

"Yes… I met him in a bar… some days ago… and we have been talking… and today he came here…"

"And?"

"He stabbed me!" She cried.

John glanced at Sherlock. He was smiling.

"Miss Bluer, calm down…"

"He stabbed me… in the middle of a talk… I didn't make nothing bad...to him… nothing… he… almost killed me…"

"Is the wound deep?"

"The paramedics treated me… it was not very…deep… but the blood…"

Sherlock said:

"Did he let some note?"

The girl looked at him.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, Miss Bluer. Did he let some note?"

"Yes…" she looked at John "John Watson?"

An officer entered the room.

"There is a note in the kitchen." He gave it to Lestrade and Lestrade showed it to Sherlock. Watson walked to them and red it too.

_The place all souls live_

_The heart of a faithful woman_

_In the valley of hope_

_I seek you, my enemy; I seek you till the eternity_

_Where do we meet again?_

_Hide and seek_

_Where are you?_

"Sherlock, what is it?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"He wants me…"

"Who?"

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade. He comprehended.

"Moriarty?"

Sherlock nodded. Lestrade glanced at John.

"Again?"

"Yes, the riddles are like the phone calls and the bombs. He wants me to go to him." He looked at Miss Bluer.

"Miss Bluer, it was a tall man, with big eyes, short and dark hair, thin?"

"Yes…"

"Did he say his name?"

"He said he was Hyde…"

Sherlock laughed at the joke. She was confused.

"It's kind of funny, you know… Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jekyll… the story."

But the girl was too shocked to understand the joke or never read the story.

There was nothing more to do there, so they left the house, leaving the police there. Lestrade went with them.

"Sherlock, he is attacking people…"

"The other time he did the same. An old woman died!" John exclaimed.

"I will go after him now. No more attacks. I will find him."

"Wanna help?" Lestrade offered.

"No, I will do this alone. You must catch him, but I must find him first."

"Okay" and they left Lestrade in the scene and called for a cab.


	3. Hide and seek

**Chapter III**

"When we get home, you will blog to tell him I know it." Sherlock was thinking in a way to put Moriarty acting faster.

"Okay, and if he appears?"

"It's the purpose of the post."

"You're playing with fire, Sherlock!"

"I want to finish with his stupid play. No more victims. If he wants to contact me, do it. Come visit me." Sherlock was serene.

John wasn't.

"Sherlock, I don't think it's a great idea… remember… I was …"

"I know John; you were almost killed the other time, but not this time. This time will be different, I promise you. No more victims. I swear."

"I'm not convinced… Moriarty is a sadist…"

"I don't care; I only want him to stop with this charade!"

John silenced. The rest of the trip was made in silence. When the cab stopped in 221B, John paid the taxi driver while Sherlock opened the door and left. John followed him.

"Go on, John." Sherlock said looking at the John's laptop.

John sighed and turned it on. Minutes later he was blogging and Sherlock was searching in the internet.

"I did it." John said.

Sherlock rose and went to read the screen.

_Another crime this day. This time no one got killed, but a woman was wounded. Someone used a knife to cut her chest, upon her heart. The dead man was stabbed on his heart. Who is perpetrating these actions? A lunatic? A maniac? A crazy man or woman that wants to make us thinks it as a passion act? Love hurts, does it? Stay aware, for love is in the air. Close your hearts and your doors. The maniac is here, hold your breath. Hide and seek, Mr. Hyde, where are you? A monster? A horror figure? A bomb maker? Where are you, Mr. Hyde?_

Sherlock smiled.

"You have a poet inside you."

"Is it good?"

"Not bad, not bad… _stay aware, for love is in the air_. You need a woman John!"

John laughed.

"Now, let's rest." And they went to sleep.

By morning, Mrs. Hudson called them.

"Boys! It's a package for you in the hall!"

John appeared.

"Good morning Mrs. Hudson. Who send it?"

"Good morning John. It's not for me, is it?" and laughed, leaving him with the package.

John carried it to their place and opened it.

"Wow... what the…"

A knife was lying on the package end box.

"SHERLOCK COME HERE!"

Minutes later Sherlock left the room.

"Sherlock, the knife is here…"

"Moriarty's knife?"

"Hum hum…"

Sherlock ran to the package and looked.

"He red the post… he will stop making terror. Now he will come…"

John rolled his eyes.

"It's not a joyful thing, isn't it?" he asked.

"Don't be sarcastic John! Let's wait."

John sighed. "I will get the bread and some stuff on the supermarket."

"Okay, bye."

John dressed his jacket and left. Sherlock went to his laptop, searching something and thinking.

"What do you want, Moriarty? What do you want… you bastard?"

The time passed. It was time to lunch and John wasn't at home. Sherlock was turning impatient.

"Where are you John? Come on…"

He went to the window. No signal of John.

He tried to eat something, but he was too impatient.

"Damn, where are you…? Moriarty, what have you done…?"

He was convinced John was in trouble. But he couldn't do anything… so he waited. It was seven o'clock when his phone rang. A SMS.

_Come to me, come to me_

_Where am I? Come at the haunted house, come and find me…_

_I'm waiting for you_

_Waiting …_

"You bastard!" he ate some food, put his gun on a pocket and left the apartment, calling for a cab.

There was only that house in London. Everyone known its story, only a fool would enter there at night. The driver glanced at Sherlock by the rearview mirror, but the client was silent and calm.

"Okay, sir." And they went. Some minutes later they were in front of a decrepit Victorian house, with windows broken and boards on them. The door was ajar. Sherlock paid the ride and dismiss the driver. Now he was alone with that maniac. He didn't call for Lestrade.

He crossed the pavement, transposed the gate and walked to the door. He opened it and entered, with a lamp on his hand.

The house was dark and full of terrors. There were lots of mirrors in the halls, covered by dust and dirtiness. The floor was in the same state. No light, except Sherlock's lamp, was there. He looked around him and discovered some rooms and stairs to another floor.

"Where are you? Moriarty, I know you are here!" he called.

A subtle song came from the second floor. It was a creepy melody and Sherlock knew he needed to follow it. So he went upstairs. The wood was creak beneath his feet and the melody was letting him nervous. He wasn't afraid, but it was not a good situation.

When he got in the second floor, he saw a hall with a corridor full of door. Which room were hidden John and the creepy melody?

"Moriarty?" he turned.

The melody turned to a strong tune, even creepier. It was coming from the fifth door in the right, so he walked to it and opened the door.


	4. A shot in the dark

**Chapter IV**

The range of light illuminated the room and alowed to Sherlock what was inside the room. The music was coming from a gramophone and a music box with a little prince dancing on it. It was dying now. In a corner of the room was a dossal bed. It was someone lying there. The walls were covered with old painting, mirrors,a wardrobe and a writing-desk. Sherlock approached the bed.

John was there, with his wrists bound and a gag. His eyes were wide open and he had a stroke on his front.

"John, oh John, oh… are you alright?" he took the gag off.

John coughed.

"Sherlock… he kidnapped me…"

"Where is he?"

"Hello, my dear Dr. Jekyll!" Moriarty said, coming from behind the wardrobe. He had a gun on his hand.

"You bastard, why have you done this to John? You wanted me…" Sherlock said.

"Oh, but this way is much more exciting, isn't it!? In this house, with John there, waiting all day. It was not very easy to catch him, so I need to strike him in the head, you know, to make him stop. And then I came here, a haunted house… no one enters here. And we waited for you. You are intelligent Sherlock, very clever…"

"What do you want now, Jim?"

"Let me finish, clever boy!" exclaimed Moriarty "…so, I want to test you again. Test your resistance, test you way to deal with threats and danger. Tell me, how do you deal with perils?"

"You did this already Jim. Stop being so boring and do something different." Sherlock sighed.

Moriarty pointed the gun at John and shot. John shouted and Sherlock too:

"JOHN!" he ran to the bed, in shock.

Blood was leaking out from John's chest, like a string. Sherlock was unable to think, with the vision of all that blood falling from his friend.

"Sherlock, Sherlock… please, help me…" John was almost crying. The pain was too strong.

"I'm here, John, I won't let you go…" he looked at Moriarty "You didn't need to shoot Watson! You son of a…"

"Hey hey hey! Hold on clever boy! You told I'm too boring, so I needed to do something different. The other time I didn't blow up with you friend, so, this time I made it different. He shot him. I killed him." Jim laughed, with his hysterical laugh.

Sherlock ran towards Jim and punched him in the stomach.

"I hate you, Moriarty, I hate you and I will make you pay!"

Jim turned to laugh.

"I only wanted to see you resistance to fear and danger, come on! I like you, you are my enemy… you're not as good as me."

John was moaning higher. Sherlock left Moriarty and staggered to his friend. He held his face on his hands.

"John, John… look at me." John gazed into his friend's eyes. His vision was kind of clouded.

Sherlock unbuttoned John's shirt and saw the wound, between the heart and the stomach. The blood was draining faster; John was feverish and almost senseless. He took his scarf and tried to transform it in a compress.

John cried, moaning:

"Don't…don't…let me…die…plea…se"

Sherlock started to cry. He was not so convinced like he was sooner.

Moriarty sighed.

"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock… now I know you cry. I'm not like you. Now I know it. I don't cry. I'm stronger, Sherlock. I won."

"You won nothing!"

"I won because I saw you sad and miserable. I dreamt with this picture for a long time, Sherlock. Thank you for giving it to me."

And he left the room, leaving Sherlock and John behind.

Sherlock didn't know what to do, he was lost. I searched for his mobile phone and called an ambulance.

" My friend is dying, he got shot. Come fast!"

And then he took the rope that was blinding John's wrists and sat by his side, holding his wrist, checking his pulse.

"Please, please, John… don't die…" Sherlock said, crying.

"Save…me…" John moaned, sizzling.


	5. Hospital

**Chapter V**

Sherlock wasn't feeling very well. He was not sick, it was something worst. Blame. He was blaming himself. John didn't want to enter that plan; he knew something bad would happen and Sherlock despised his feelings. Now he was hearing John's voice on his head. And his own answers.

"_Sherlock, I don't think it's a great idea… remember… I was …"_

"_I know John; you were almost killed the other time, but not this time. This time will be different, I promise you. No more victims. I swear."_

"_I'm not convinced… Moriarty is a sadist…"_

"_I don't care; I only want him to stop with this charade!" _

"_He red the post… he will stop making terror. Now he will come…" _

"_It's not a joyful thing, isn't it?" he asked._

"_Don't be sarcastic John! Let's wait." _

"_I will get the bread and some stuff on the supermarket." _

"_Okay, bye."_

How could he have been so blind? So cold? John was dying and that was his fault. He glanced at John's face: the face of a ghost.

"Isn't it cruel, John? Haunting this house forever, with the other ghosts? Is that what will happen?"

But John didn't answer. Sherlock checked hid pulse again: almost no pulse. Sherlock's tears fell. His friend was really dying. So, he raised him from the bed and laid him on his lap. He glanced at a door and saw something: a shadow. A young woman was looking at them. A ghost.

"Please, help us…" Sherlock pleaded, but she only looked at them, afraid. And then she vanished.

"Oh John…I'm so sorry. You are my only friend… don't leave me John!"

And they stayed there until the ambulance come. When the paramedics entered the room, Sherlock looked at them, crying.

"What happened sir?" one of them asked.

"My friend was been shot. Jim Moriarty did it…"

The paramedics approached the bed.

"We need to take the patient to the stretcher."

"Please, let me carry my friend…"

"Sir, we need to hurry." Sherlock rose, with John on his arms. He down the stairs and put John on the stretcher.

The paramedics searched for the wound and nodded. One of them checked his pulse.

"Sorry, your friend…"

Sherlock shouted:

"My friend is not dead! He is not dead!"

The same paramedic listened John's chest with the auscultator. He nodded.

"Sorry Mr…"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"…Mr. Holmes, but you friend is dead."

"I don't believe you" Sherlock continued to cry.

The paramedics went to the ambulance, carrying the stretcher. Sherlock followed them. When they closed the doors, Sherlock put his ear on John's chest. The paramedics were speaking on a phone, connecting to the Hospital.

"Come on John, wake up, come on…!"

But no answer came from John's mouth.

In minutes they reached the Hospital. The paramedics ran with the stretcher, going to the emergency zone. Sherlock went after them and no one made him stop. There was a medical group to assist John. A doctor looked at Sherlock and asked:

"Mr. Holmes, your friend is dead. He is not breathing… no pulse." Sherlock glanced at her name on the vest.

"Make him live, Miss Jones. Save him." He begged.

Another doctor, with white hair and a beard, approached with the defibrillator. "1, 2, 3" and used it on John.

"My friend has been shot; he was a bullet inside him! You must take it!"

Miss Jones held Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes, please, if you continue to interfere, I must invite you to leave this room…"

Sherlock glanced at John. His face was pale as a ghost. He remembered the young woman looking at them, with fear on her pale face. She was really pretty… was John with her now?

And then something moved on the room. The doctors exclaimed and shouted orders. John moved on the stretcher. He was not dead.

He thought he would faint, while he saw the doctors undressing John and connecting him to the machines, putting tubes into his skin and veins, giving him medicines and preparing the instruments to the operation. The nurses came and the instrumentalists too. Miss Jones glanced at Sherlock and said:

"Mr. Holmes, we will operate your friend. He is not dead!"

"Save him, doctor, please!"

"We will do all we could, be patient." And she put him away.

Sherlock glanced at the door. John was not dead. He had a chance. Sherlock fell on his knees and prayed.


End file.
